


B: Breach

by this is not my name (thisisnotmyname)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drabble, Gen, POV Multiple, The Breach - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-14 08:36:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 5,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9171103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisnotmyname/pseuds/this%20is%20not%20my%20name
Summary: The Inner Circle's thoughts on the Breach as they encounter it and what it heralds.





	1. The Herald

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Lavellan looks into the destruction of the past and sees the horror of the present, she weeps for the future to come.

                When Lavellan first looked up into the sky and saw that gaping rent and heard that _those Shems_ blamed her for whatever it was that happened, the Breach became more than just a threat to the world. It was a threat to her life, as well as the reminder that though her people would never again submit, she was captured for good or ill. That poisonous green that washed out all her other senses had become her chains. The stench of fear and anger, the murmurs of a crowd thirsting for her blood, even the cold sting of the Frostbacks against her cheeks, all of these sensations were muted to against the horror of realization of what The Breach meant for her.

                Then there was the closure of that first rift in the wreckage of the temple, and the pulses of pain that were an alien heartbeat stinging the very bones of her hand. And so, she became their Herald of Andraste.

                Then there were the rifts that had cropped up at every turn, at every place they went. Rifts that birthed demons so casually, that Lavellan could only wonder if there ever _would be_ an end to all of the chaos that had happened since the chaos. And so, in the eyes of the Inquisition, Lavellan was spreading the good works and love of a Maker that she had no interest or belief in.

                Then there was the closing of The Breach, a temporary fix she knew. That even though the Green was gone, whatever it was that had originally caused it would bring it back. That evil would try again, she knew. And she knew that she would have to stop it, no matter the cost. And so, Lavellan accepted the weight of the responsibility that others thrust upon her.

                The others, they seemed as though they understood. Even Solas had given her strength in her anguish. But no, none of them _really_ knew that that Breach had meant to _her_ , since the first moment she laid eyes on it. Since that first moment that her hand stung with such _ferocity_ as to force her to her knees and Lavellan _felt_ it pulse through her flesh and bone and _magic_.  As Lavellan looked upon the Breach and every subsequent rift after, Lavellan looked upon her death, her capture, her subjugation. And so, in her heart, where she knew Her Creators heard and listened, she _wept_.


	2. Leiliana

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though others would wonder, the Left Hand would know

                She saw the birth of it. Had seen, from the distance, the destruction of the conclave and she _knew_ what it meant. Leiliana had not wanted to think about it. The Left Hand did not want to think about all of the implications and the decisions that would then have to be made in the aftermath of the destruction. She did not want to think of the greatest loss. Leiliana did not want to think about…Most Holy. But as she watched the Breach bloom into being across the sky, Leiliana pushed all of her wants aside. She served the Chantry, she served the Divine, and she would _know_ everything there was about what would happen and everything that would be to come.

                She would _know_ about the Elven female who fell from the Rift. About the woman behind her as it closed.

                The Nightingale would know if not Lavellan, then _who was it that caused the destruction of the conclave?_

                Leiliana would know who was an enemy of the Inquisition and who was not.

                As she looked out into the crowd, with her fellow advisors and the Herald at her sides, Leiliana would see the Breach above all those people, and she would want to know what the future held. Her scouts were already going far and wide to collect as much information as they could.  Knowledge was power, after all, and Leiliana would do her best to know all there was to know on this particular subject. Never again would the Conclave happen again, the event changing so many lives in the instant of its failure. Leiliana would _know_ about the enemy and how to defeat them.

                As she watched the Herald go forth with the mages to close the Breach, Leiliana would ponder on the next moves of the enemy. She would see the fade-tinged light upon upturned faces and wonder at what the future holds. She would _know_ how to cripple the enemy, when they decided to show their faces.

                As Leiliana did her best to ignore the pulses of light from the Herald’s hand, she would wonder at the likelihood of Lavellan surviving all the battles to come. She would pray, of course, that things go right. She would _hope and pray and plead_ in her heart to the Maker, that they be delivered from the evil that has come into Thedas.

                But she would _know_ that they would fight hordes of demons, untold horrors, and all of the heartache to come, because they _would_ survive this and become all the stronger for it.


	3. Lady Josephine Monilyet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry about the lack of updates!! Gotta find that damned plot-bunny and put it back where it came from.

Though Lady Montilyet had received reports from her network, as well as Leiliana, nothing could have prepared the Antivan for the sight of the Breach that hung over where the Temple of Sacred Ashes had once been. Josephine had already been making her way to the conclave, when she heard of the explosion and the devastation therein. A devout Andrastian, though perhaps not as devout as the Nightingale herself, Josephine’s heart had wept at the loss of the divine as well. Still, she wanted to know more and to help in anyway that she could. It was why she answered her dear friend’s call. The prisoner, and then the Herald (though that title had been spread by both herself and Leiliana) was interesting person to start with. Mistress Lavellan, though a Dalish apostate, had a firm grasp on the politicking that would have to take place. Even her wry answers to Josephine’s pronouncement of the Chantry’s accusations against her were pleasingly succinct.

Still, as Josephine sat at her desk within the Chantry of Haven working on spreading the Inquisition’s influence, the Lady could only make so many Noble connections. The subtle and not-so-subtle hints that she weaved throughout her letters were not as varied as the Spymaster’s, to be sure. But that did not mean that Josephine did not her own work to do. Afterall, building an army required so many things. Food, pay, shelter, weapons. Delegating tasks could only do so much, and when Lavellan had eventually brought in Mother Giselle, more negotiating and politics were added to the Lady’s already heavy load. That wasn’t to say that she didn’t enjoy it, or that she was unprepared. No, despite the stone walls that kept Josephine in, she knew her duty. Knew what connections and wevs she had to spin in order for justice to be done and for the world to be saved by the swirling vortex just over their heads.

Indeed, Lady Montilyet did not have to step out of the Chantry often to remember just why it was that she was working so hard and so late, when she could’ve been at home in Antiva, managing only her family’s affairs.

Rather than connecting Lord so-and-so with Lady Whatsherface.

Rather than endlessly talking circles around the Val Royeaux Nobles that thought them heretics.

Rather than watch as those she had come to call dear friends work themselves to the bone, trying to fix the mess of a world gone mad.

Lady Josephine Montilyet was no wilting flower, but she would do all that she could to support the cause that would either be her making or undoing.


	4. (Not Knight!) Commander Cullen S Rutherford

Cullen had not been sure where it was, exactly that his life was going. Leiliana had sent the summons to the conclave and even thought he was no longer a Templar, Cullen still felt at least some sort of duty to at least the Divine. No longer a Knight Commander, though he tried to disabuse the others who came with him from Kirkwall, he was willing to keep the mantle of Commander. They were not very far from the temple when it happened. The plan had been to meet the Hands of the Divine at the Temple and proceed from there to the peace talks. Clearly it was not meant to be, as from the road a great explosion shook the earth beneath him and the sky ripped open in a riot of fade green. Drawing his sword, Cullen called out to his company "for the Divine for the chantry!" And so they charged into battle.

Cullen knew his sins. Knew that he had much to make up for and that the rebellion was more than just a few mages fault. That did not stop the slow burn of accusation (an ember of hatred that he had so desperately tried to smother since Kinloch) in his breast, did not slow the desperate swings of his great sword. As he fought the demons that poured forth, Cullen did not think of the burnt corpses that littered the ground, about the Divine, did not think about what was to come. Instead he thought on the gaping tear in the sky above him and how those responsible would pay.

He would look from the rifts as they closed and turn his eyes on the prisoner and hope to believe that she was not the true culprit.

Cullen would watch as the Herald did all she could to close the Breach, that first time, only to fail. He would watch as she slowly and carefully cultivated the influence needed to haul the Chantry to its senses and help the Inquisition find the true Evil that had wrought such tragedy upon their world. And in his breast, the sliver of hate and betrayal that he had felt towards the apostates would fade only to be replaced by the understanding of what would had become of them. The feeling that he and his fellows had failed them, and indeed, that the Order had failed themselves in turn.  

He would look away from the green recruits he was to train into a true fighting force for the Inquisition and pray that the sky be made whole once more.

The Commander would watch as they went from farmers and merchants, to warriors in their own rights. As they did all they could in order to help the Inquisition. He would come away from his prayers to the Maker and see those that he had thought hopeless become  _his_ troops. 

Would watch as the herald marched with the mages she chose over Templars. Templars that he had known as his brothers and sisters. And he would hope that she made the right choice.


	5. Varric Tethras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome (and unwilling) tag-along. (Ugh.)

After Kirkwall and the stupidity that was Blondie, Varric wasn’t too terribly surprised at being captured by the Lady Seeker. He certainly thought that it would be a simple interrogation and that all would be over quickly. Or that he would escape and put the whole thing behind him. Waaay behind him. Unfortunately, the iron bracelets that the Seeker was so kind to give him said otherwise.

“Look Seeker, I don’t know what it is you think I know more than what I’ve already told you, but-”

“Quiet, Dwarf. The Divine requires you, and so you shall be delivered.”

Varric could only grumble to himself, after all, if the Seeker was so willing to stab him in the book, he wasn’t sure what she wouldn’t do in order to guarantee at least a percentage of his complacency. Of course that all changed when the Conclave exploded and the really weird shit, that he had thought would be over with in Kirkwall, began. Because of course this kind of shit would keep happening to him. Afterall he’d done and seen and…. No. Just because he was pitiful and, admittedly, scared shitless of the Fade-Green Vortex of Doom that was swirling above them, did not mean that he, Varric Tethras of all people, should lose his head. It didn’t stop him from jerking back when the Seeker rounded on him, grief in her eyes.

“Did you do this?! Did you know about this?!” She lifted him by the shirt and gave him a rough shake.

“No! I’ve been here with you the whole time, Seeker!”

He covered her hands with his, and though he was dangling above the ground, nearly helpless in the Lady Seeker’s grasp, Varric looked into her eyes. Denial and grief. There was no doubt in either of their minds that anyone at the Temple was dead. Even the Divine… Cassandra put him down, and for a moment, he thought she would collapse. But no, the Seeker was stronger than that.

“I...apologize.”

“I understand.”

“We must go, see if there are any survivors. Here,” she took his wrists and removed the shackles. “Who knows what we will come up against?”

“Thank you, Seeker.”

She handed him Bianca, and gave a sharp nod before turning back to the path. Varric could smell a story brewing, the kind where a hero would be needed. A tale that would echo throughout Thedas, and would be full of daring-do. Full of heartbreak. He could only be glad that Hawke was nowhere near any of this latest and greatest pot of shit that landed on their heads. Varric looked up again, his heart pounding in his chest, and hoisted his beloved closer.

“Well...shit.”


	6. Lady Seeker Cassandra Philomena Allegra Portia Pentaghast

She knew... _ She knew that it wasn’t the dwarf’s fault. _ It wasn’t, but for those brief moments before the first of the many battles to come, Cassandra had hoped that it was. That she could express all of the emotions simply with sword and fist and knife and  _ teeth _ … but no. It wasn’t his, and he understood what it meant that the Temple was gone. That the conclave had failed. That the Divine was dead. He understood, and as they went to the Temple and began to battle the demons that poured forth from the Breach, Cassandra forgave him, just a little. Forgave him for not knowing, or perhaps, believing that he wasn’t, that the abomination known as Anders would do what he did. Cassandra forgave him, just a little, for that. 

And as they came upon the apostate known as Solas battling demons, she too forgave the elf, just a little, for simply wanting to help. The tears that she so longed to let fall would be kept, hard and cold, beneath her armour and beneath her breast. She would hold onto to them. Hold onto the sorrow that threatened to consume her. For a brief moment, as they came upon the only survivor of the explosion, those tears and the rage threatened to boil over. Leiliana was kind enough to keep Cassandra away from the unconscious elf, so that others could tend to her. So that Cassandra didn’t destroy the only lead that they had before questioning. 

Her rage was awakened once more when the prisoner awoke and she and Leiliana came to the dungeon to try and wrest answers from her. But the Dalish elf knew nothing, mentioned only something about the woman that was seen behind her as she came out of the rift. From there, it becomes a blur of demons, rifts, and that  _ damnable pride demon. _

The following weeks are of little consolation, back and forth to the Hinterlands, establishing the Inquisition. Chancellor Roderick and his unceasing, annoying, insufferable… Suffice to say that Cassandra had had more than enough of everything. Even the dwarf’s attempts at humor do little to soothe her mood. And while she slowly builds rapport with Lavellan and the others, Cassandra can put aside the taste of ashes in her mouth and go forward with their missions. It doesn’t help, that in the dead of night, when all others are asleep or on watch and she has a moment to herself, that the grief comes back. All those people, gone forever. Cassandra’s rage is easily diverted to other things, but her grief is given so little outlet. Even the green-glare reflected from the armor of the soldiers, in the eyes of those that come to help or to be saved… she cannot escape it. Still, the Lady Seeker takes it all and hardens it so that her blade becomes that much sharper and quicker. So that they would do what they had set out for. 

Perhaps, even one day, she would no longer wake to the taste of salt and ash on her tongue, and her ears ringing with the echoes of an explosion long since past. 


	7. The Apostate Formally Known As Solas

Whatever he had meant, whatever he had ever wanted, it was never meant to be like this. Waking in this new world. Seeing how far the People had fallen.  _ His People were no more. _ The descendants were supposed to have been better. Supposed to have cast of the chains that he had begun breaking so long ago. But no. Everything was far worse than he could have imagined. Solas couldn’t help but wonder if things would have been better with Elgar’nan’s wrath or Falon’Din’s lust for death. Every new facet of this new world that Solas encountered leaves a bitter taste on his tongue and a shard within his heart, even as he scoffs at the missteps of these foolish, ignorant,  _ Tranquil,  _ da’len. 

It was all his fault, really, and Solas knew it. Knew it as well as any other fact. It was his fault, and though he tried to fix it, in his weakness…

_ Damn that Magister! Damn his foci!! Fenedhis lasa! _

Was there nothing he could do, nothing he could touch, that wouldn’t be ruined by his own lack of foresight? By his own pride? He was no hunter, not like Andruil and her own lust for the hunt, but a wolf he was and always would be. Before rebellion, before becoming Harellan, he was yet a wolf. And wolves hunt, with or without a pack. Followed that Ancient Evil Thing to the Temple. Watched, once more, as his plans blew up in his face. A little too literally for his taste in this instance. It was horrific, the unnecessary sacrifice of so much life. It disgusted him as much as it shamed him that something that was  _ his _ would be used to such ends. Resulting in the clumsy tear within the Veil that HE created. All told, Solas was no longer sure what to be more ashamed of. But fate would, once again, prove to him just how much he screwed up. That girl, Lavellan, to have to bear his mark, though the others would tote her as Andraste’s Herald. 

She was a smart one, strong enough to bear the pain and expectations that all these others would place on her. Her curiosity and innovations surprising him at every turn. He would correct this world, this aberration. Lavellan was wrong, true, though not by her own design. He would erase the shame of this world, rebuild it anew, and perhaps see how this one would blossom, should he survive. Solas vowed to himself, that he would find a way to cleanse himself of this shame. 


	8. Madame Vivienne de Fer, Enchanter to the Imperial Court of Orlais

It came as no surprise to Madame de Fer that war had broken out in such a manner. Grand Enchanter Fiona had long since been a fool in her eyes and as a prolific player of the Game, Madame Vivienne could easily see how everything was going to play out. Word of the disaster at the Conclave, though devastating, came as no surprise either. Divine Justinia had been a Great Woman, there was no doubt about that, but she was much too naive in De Fer’s opinion, when it came to her optimistic views of the relationship between the Mages and the Templars. Madame Vivienne could only hope that the next Divine, when chosen, would institute proper regulations when it came to the Circle of Magi. 

Of course, after meeting the Herald (who really was a charming girl, and perhaps in need of a mentor to teach her the ways of how the world  _ really _ worked) De Fer was more than happy to offer her services to the budding Inquisition. Upon her arrival, Madame Vivienne had already been prepared to live… rustic in contrast to her time in Val Royeaux. Therefore, it had made perfect sense to set up her own space within the familiar walls of the Chantry. Haven itself, had leant little impression to the Senior Enchanter, but the true problem lay outside of the walls of the Chantry. 

Vivienne could feel the  _ wrongness _ of the Breach, even at such a distance. Unsettling and wrong against her aura. Of course, any discomfort she felt was kept carefully beneath her skin though she made her distaste of the inelegant Tear in the Veil common knowledge. It wasn’t an unshared sentiment, after all. Even in her assessment of the Breach, though it was not personally caused by Templars or Mages, Madame de Fer felt as though she was justified in her earlier sentiments regarding the whole rebellion in the first place. No rebellion would have meant no Conclave, would have meant no unnecessary deaths and destruction. Perhaps the Breach would have happened in some other manner, but to the Iron Lady, the Rebellion was the avenue through which this other player had easily taken advantage. Afterall, it was easy to create chaos amongst chaos. 

Indeed, commentary from the others that the Herald had picked up in her fight against whatever force it was, the Iron Lady saw the Breach and simply saw opportunity. Opportunity to reinstate the Circles with even more reason to keep mages in check. An opportunity for someone, perhaps even herself, to remake things through their ideals and their image. 

To be certain, the Breach was an aberration, an abomination against the natural order of how things should be, but it was certainly another rung in the ladder that Madame Vivienne de Fer had been climbing all her life. 


	9. Sera (Red Jenny)

Fuckin’ demony shite. Everything gone to the Void in a damn hand-basket and all anyone thinks about it is just talk talk talk. Lady Glowy-pants was doing something about it, so of course Sera is gonna go with her. She’s elfy, for sure, but Sera thinks that she won’t be as bad as the other big-hats. Certainly not as bad as  _ Vivvy _ . Sera just wanted to get back to normal, her and her friends, fighting the fight for all the people. Course, coming to Haven, she didn’t want to look at the Breach. Didn’t need the reminder that the whole of everything has gone mad and upended.  _ Upended in the end, ha! _ The glowing, swirling wrong Wrong WRONG in the sky. Even if it did kinda look like lady bits.

Though Sera wasn’t sure what she would do if she ever say lady bits that looked like that. Arrows, maybe? And then there was Lady Bits and what she could do against something like that? Sera was sure she could, but she was so small and young! Sera still can’t look at it though, not directly. Too big, too much. Even stupid Egg-head with his Elven Glory shite knew that it was wrong. So there, in her face, Sera  _ would not look at it.  _ Pretend she can’t see it in the shiny reflection of the jackboots on the ground, not in the eyes of the little people who helped keep this organization afloat. Not see it in all the talking that big-hats were doing, trying to pretend like the world wasn’t  _ right _ . 

‘Specially when it really wasn’t. Nothing was right, and even though Sera wouldn’t look at the Breach, she could still see it when the Herald’s hand acted up. When she said it didn’t hurt and tried to play it off, like pins and needles. She just kept going, doing what she had to. Sera respected that, not that she actively respected much. She just wanted normal, even when normal became using arrows on demons and magic-y shite instead of nobles being stupid and helping her friends. 

Sera would think about sending her arrows right into the pissing hole of demons above their heads, even if it wouldn’t work. But the thoughts of it maybe working helped make her feel better about the whole thing. She just… had to believe that her Herald-ness would do it. Would fix this huge mess that she didn’t make. She promised, after all, that she would help make things go back to the way they were. 


	10. The Iron Fucking Bull

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> or Perhaps Hissrad

The Qun didn’t like what was going on. His boys didn’t like what was going on. HE didn’t like what was going on. It didn’t help that Krem’s report of “Swirling Green Arsehole of Doom” was the best description The Iron Bull could have been given. Alongside the reports that he received of the little slip of a bas that was being called Herald… all told Bull was sure that the fucking demon shit that was happening would be no good to anyone. Not that he had to say as much. It also didn’t help that the latest addition to the steaming pile of demon shit that was being rained upon their heads were these Venatori that were cropping up like shitty vint flowers. Hissrad’s reports back to Par Vollen said as much in fewer words, and it seemed like his superiors agreed in just as few words. Still, Hissrad would do as his Qun demanded. 

_ Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun.* _

Their arrival in Haven is quiet, even for his boys. The aforementioned swirling asshole in the sky being the cause of the unusual quiet amongst the Chargers. Of course, there was a sense of bravado and fake-courage, but even Bull could vaguely sense the wrongness of the Breach. His... _ archer _ had made her dislike of it known.

“Makes my  _ bow _ feel off, it does.”

It didn’t take a Ben-Hassrath to know that this shit was no-good for anyone but the one who caused it in the first place. Still, he would do as he was bid, multitasking was a part of his job, after all. Bull simply pushed down the twinges of fear down, he wouldn’t need the rod just yet. Still, as his eye wandered from the hole in the sky to the training recruits to the little slip of a bas that would be leading them, Bull let a smirk steal across his face. At least there was a cute little redheaded bas with big eyes and a cute ass to lead them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless.


	11. Warden Blackwall

The Herald was… something else, truly. She was and couldn’t help but want to follow her. She was a light in the murky fog that had become his life, and so he followed her like some lost spring-pup. He didn’t have so much pride anymore to say that it wasn’t what it was. His guilt at lying to her though, was still present. Blackwall tried to suppress it but the Qunari could see it there, despite not saying much about it. What good would he be against any Darkspawn they could come across? Still, he went with them and if Lavellan looked at him with a suspicious understanding (could there be such a thing?), then that was no one’s business but their own.

Any of his usual thoughts of guilt and redemption were halted when his gaze was turned up to the sky. He had made a tidy nest for himself near the forge, close enough to be easily contacted but far enough to assuage the feelings of guilt that occurred by him just being in the Inquisition. Distance from the true heroes who had nothing to hide. His self-loathing aside, it didn’t matter what Blackwall did. Training, carving, helping around Haven, even trying to take a Maker-forsaken piss! His mind and his eyes would eventually stray to the Breach. Horrifying and beautiful. He simply could not look away from the Damn Thing.

In his heart, in his soul, Blackwall knew that in this, he had made the right choice. Joining the Inquisition, even under a false name, was tight. There were too many sins, too much blood on his hands to ever make things _completely_ right, but in this he could do some good with the time that he had left. _In death, sacrifice._ It didn’t matter to him, whether he lived or died in this mission to close the Breach and avenge the Divine. And it certainly wouldn’t redeem him, but as Blackwall gazed once more at the Breach, he knew that he could do something right.


	12. Altus Dorian of House Pavus, Minrathous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andraste's Flaming Pants, Alexius!!

Truly, it was an ugly thing, this whole business. Alexius’ involvement ( _ Maker have mercy…) _ , the Venatori (because, of course, let’s all fall into classic stereotypes?), the whole thing was just too damn ugly. The initial meeting with the Herald had at least given Dorian some measure of those who would not let the world be swallowed by some megalomaniac with grand ideas of how the empire should be. There was the acceptance of him coming back with them, to help against his former mentor and Dorian happily followed the meager breadcrumbs back to the small hold. 

To say that Dorian wasn’t particularly  _ fond _ of the other mages in their first meetings would be an understatement. There was the enigmatic apostate, Solas, and then there was the  _ delightfully disdainful _ Madame de Fer. The estranged son of Tevinter could easily see where some interesting debates in the future would crop up, though he could not help that they could not handle his beautiful self and the majesty of his own intellect. Whatever differences they had aside, they could all at least agree on the abomination that was the Breach. It was wrong, inelegant..awful, really. Itchy teeth and spikes against the skin. Much like the bad fashion of Solas, rubbing against his aura with all the distasteful feel of an unwanted animal. A rival in the Magisterium eyeing your turned back kind of wrong.  _ Too many eyes, the fade distorted, this is not to be!! _

Sense of abnormality aside, Dorian could not help but also feel excited at the prospect of the papers and experiments that they could conduct post-closing the Breach. Academic he was, but suicidally stupid? He liked to think not, even with the prodding of that leering lump of a brutish Qunari. Truly, he was there to help, even though the cast of Fade-green from the tear in the Veil simply made him look ghastly! But then there was Redcliffe, and then recruiting the mages. His mentor, Alexius and then Felix!  
_Void take you Alexius, what have you done? Felix would never have-!_

Red lyrium everywhere. Everyone dead or dying, even though their acquaintance had brief so far. The Breach that had been monstrous before, now a gaping maw ready to swallow the world and cast them all into the void… Returning from the future-that-should-never-be, Dorian’s heart broke. Broke for his dear friend’s father, the man who would have been a father to him as well. Though he let his disappointment show, he had to push down the ache behind his ribs. Hide it behind a devilish smile and a magnificent moustache. Even the academic interest he had initially felt at the Breach had dimmed. It most paramount that they close it, knowing what would happen if it were allowed to progress in any manner. Before, they could only theorize, propose ideas as to what  _ could  _ happen if it were left unchecked. Now though, now  _ they knew _ . 

_ Oh Alexius, how could you do such a thing? What paths will we have to walk now? _


	13. CompassionCole

  Burning, hurting, clawing anger. 

_                               **How dare that upstart take what is mine?** _

                       Red. Red. Red, inside, outside, red everywhere.

                                          The song is wrong now, but they still crave it. They need it. 

                  Wrong-song, false home. Not real, not that.

Yawning, gaping, not right. That tear is gone now, she closed it.  

                                                      Scarred, silent, screaming, still there. Bandaged fade, wrong put right.

             Sealed, silent and screaming. She closed it! 

Wait, no. There’s more. No rest, not yet. Can’t let them sleep.He’s coming, hunting,  _ hungering _ .

                                                 Have to help, I’m here to help. It’s closed and healing, but he wants to tear it open again.

_                 So much blood to make a run in the silk. Clumsy, grasping, greedy-! _

**_Dumat, I WILL have it. It is mine, It is my right! I will take it all!_ **

I don’t like him. He is wrong, Archdemon _I saw one like it in the Fade_ , not real, not right…

              Knives go where they need to, send the red ones away. 

_ Rest now, no more wrong-song. _

“I can’t come in unless you open!”

                                      I’m here to help, hello. Hello, I am Cole. 


End file.
